


Sing Out Loud, Sing Out Strong

by Fuleao



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Episode: e060-066 The Stolen Century Parts 1-7, Gen, Headcanons about voidfish culture, Hey guess what I heckin love this cosmic cnidarian child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 17:18:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuleao/pseuds/Fuleao
Summary: A different POV for the presentations to the mountain in cycle 47, and a slightly different version.





	Sing Out Loud, Sing Out Strong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueSpaceQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSpaceQueen/gifts).



Time didn’t mean a lot in the cave. There were no schedules, rarely any planned events. Such things were the province of the humans outside, and really the only thing that had to be accounted for.

So it was rare for the baby to be woken up, rather than allowed to sleep and wake as nature directed. There was also only one likely reason for it to happen, and the baby had only one foggy moment before this fact caught up with them. The same time that their parent’s thoughts caught up with them: excitement for a momentous occasion, pride in their offspring, anticipation, curiosity, perhaps a twinge of well-hidden anxiety.

The baby launched upward from their bed and into the arms of their parent, both of them trilling. Of course, as ever their communication was more than that. From the parent, probing, questioning, a desire to provide anything their baby might need, were it the moon and stars. From the baby, excitement, gratefulness for the grounding touch of someone bigger and stronger. From both, overwhelming affection, beyond the abilities of words, which they were fortunately not restricted to.

All this occurred in only a few moments, before the parent gently towed the baby to join the others. The baby sat contentedly in the nest of tendrils and opened themselves to the transfers of the group as a whole. It was a cacaphony. Excitement, hopes for particular items, a little competitiveness here and there. Occasionally, a thought of pride as the newest joined the ceremony.

In no time at all, the first item flashed into their midst.

The nearest reached and flipped open the heavy book that had appeared, sharing the contents with the others. The result was unusual; while interest rose from several individuals, they quickly retreated, except for one. Greatest and Oldest was interested in this offering, drawn by the pieces of wisdom recorded so compactly. And if Greatest and Oldest wanted the book, no one was going to contest them.

Which didn’t bother the baby at all. They did like their fair share of stories, especially ones with pictures. Books like this, thoughts about the way things are, couldn’t hold their attention. Their parent said they might like that sort of thing when they were older. The baby wasn’t sure how that could happen.

Besides, there were lots of offerings today. The second appeared, and again the baby felt no need to clamor with the others. It was a song, an okay one, but so slow, and so long. The baby couldn’t imagine focusing long enough for a song that didn’t make one feel like dancing.

Next came a painting. Something visual, which was exactly what interested the baby. And this was a beautiful picture; a human city, colorful and busy with many details to explore. But the baby was glad that their thoughts could get lost in the tangle of the adults. There was another strong spike of interest, from _Darkest Blue, Small, Gentle and Melodious._ They had a great love of paintings, and were so clearly enamored with this one. Certainly the baby was getting worried, but they couldn’t challenge Darkest Blue’s earnest desire for the painting.

Next, there was a small sheaf of paper. This one caused a small wave of….discomfort? Some very clear agreement between the adults, but without a clear idea what to do about it. But then the baby noticed they were also keeping their thoughts from one other individual. _Second Youngest, Green Blotches_ was at the edge of the group, their curiosity evident but being willfully ignored.

The baby was closer, and tried to go inspect the papers themselves, but their parent gently drew them back.

**_It’s just a dance, nothing to worry about._ **

Clearly not the case, and the baby did like dances. But every once in a while, there was a work they weren’t allowed to look at, and if it was shared, it could be directed away from them. Another thing that was apparently for when they were older.

 _Second Youngest_ was finally, reluctantly allowed to see the papers, and they were immediately interested. There was some discontented humming from the adults as the papers were gathered up and projected.

They were running out. Yes, one needed to wait for the right item, but the baby hadn’t even considered today might not be the day…

The next item appeared, and the baby trilled, their tendrils flaring.

This one was a figurine, another good, solid object. The baby had not seen many animals in person, and ducks were one of them. But they had seen pictures, heard a few good stories featuring them. So it knew that’s what this was.

But then, the baby realized they’d let their feelings out immediately, creating an awkward situation. They were supposed to wait, to make sure they didn’t make an adult look bad if they also wanted the item. The baby whined, retreating against their parent’s tendrils slightly.

Except….when they quickly returned to the thoughts of the group, they found no one else was interested. The adults all seemed to think this wasn’t a very good offering, and they were ready to let it pass. In fact, _Left-Pink Arc, Quick Moving_ directly questioned if they were sure this was what they wanted.

The doubt and disinterest from the adults did nothing to dampen the baby’s interest. They gathered the duck into their arms – almost too large, but they managed. And…..they focused. _I like this one. No one else does, but I think it’s wonderful. I want the maker to be immer…immorshul…._

 ** _Immortalized,_** provided their parent, projected so only the baby could hear.

_Immortalized._

Several moments passed. They could feel the adults surrounding them, watching. They weren’t supposed to help. This was a personal choice, and the process was supposed to be completed personally.

The baby started to wish they would help, or at least stop watching. Their stares pressed, just as the knowledge that there were more works to be presented pressed. And then, there was no definite signal to the humans that a work had been rejected. If it took too long, they would just assume that was the case.

Still nothing.

After a few minutes, a sheaf of paper appeared, the next offering. The baby chirped in distress, but their parent’s tendrils were around them in a moment. Reassurances, the suggestion that they keep trying while the others looked at the new work. There was still time. The baby let themself be guided to the edge of the group. The parent took the duck from them and started humming, rocking them gently in their tendrils. **_Give yourself some time before you try again._**

But there was the babble of the others as they inspected the work, the last one it seemed. It was a collaboration, somewhat less common here, where so many of the humans wanted the honor of an accepted work all to themselves. But this was clearly the work of love between two people, beautiful and touching. Even rarer was the fact that all six of the works presented today would be accepted. Or at least, they would be, if everything went as intended…

It might have been a respite, away from the others while they were distracted, but there were edges to the shared projections. Nothing cruel or derogatory, but still there: curiosity, concern, small flickers of awareness back in the baby’s direction. Attention, something the baby very much did not want right now.

The parent’s rocking had slowed, and their humming stopped. The baby felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe they would have liked to have claimed this piece, but someone else was already collecting it to project. While the parent was distracted, they slid free and went back to the duck, where it’d been set on the ground.

A couple of the adults noticed the movement, and they were watching, curious, hopeful, sympathetic. Oh, the baby wished they would just look away, but they couldn’t ask that.

They stared at the duck, trying to focus on only that, to think of it being seen in the minds of everyone on this planet, and not think the gazes trained on them as they tried and tried.

They ran their tendrils along the duck again, exploring. There was a pinch at the end of one tendril, and with a yelp the baby realized they’d gotten one of those tiny pieces of wood stuck. The ones the parent had warned them about before, with woodcrafts.  

At their cry, the parent was on them again, scooping their baby, questioning. Their wave of concern, coming from more than just the immediate situation, was too much. The baby managed to keep their thoughts open only to their parent, but they didn’t try to stop the absolute wave of frustration that poured from them.

_Everyone is watching and I couldn’t do it. They were waiting on me to do what our kind does best and I couldn’t. I’m an embarrassment. They’re all thinking how I’m pitiful or I’m a failure._

_The maker of the art is out there and thinks no one wants their art and I do. I let them down. I hurt them because I couldn’t do this one thing._

_Today was supposed to be the big day and I didn’t think about how I was going to do this even when I couldn’t sleep last night from all the excitement…_

_I couldn’t even remember to watch out for wood objects, what’s wrong with me…_

**_Stop._ **

That voice cut through the chaos. The baby whimpered, retreating further in to the tendrils, crawling up and up until they were right against the bottom of their parent’s bell. The arms closed around them, swaddling them. Drawing them closer against the faint song contained in the center of their being.

The parent was using full names now.

**_My continuation. My joy. My inalienable. My work that I do not project, but that matters to me more than ten thousand of the most masterful works that will chose. Holder of my affection, beyond description, beyond understanding, beyond reason. That which is first and greatest in my mind. Light to rival every star in existence. Song heard only by me. Mine, only by fortune, by blessing, more than anything I deserve or could ever be worthy of._ **

And so on, name upon name for a while. Images and thoughts to support the wave of unfathomable affection washing over the baby, driving out its spiraling thoughts.

 ** _You will succeed,_** the parent finally said, punctuating this statement with five more terms of endearment, layered together in one moment. **_The maker may think they have failed. All the greater will be their surprise when their work is projected. Do not hurt yourself in your efforts to save them their embarrassment._**

The baby only hummed agreement.

**_You did not sleep well._ **

The baby did not respond.

**_You should rest now._ **

_Renny, they’re waiting! They think nobody wants their work!_

**_I have told you, they will be fine. You will be better equipped for this task after that._ **

It did not settle the baby’s concerns, but it convinced them of the need to rest. And of course, it didn’t take the baby long at all to drift back to sleep, tucked against the small, humming universe above them.

 

Their parent could sense their return to consciousness, and gently released them from the tangle of tendrils. It was apparently dark outside when they woke, which was expected, but the amount of time that had passed was still distressing.

 ** _Are you ready to try again?_** The question was backed with reassurances that there was no hurry, no pressure. It was just a question.

The baby knew the answer, but hesitated to actually take action. The parent hovered silently, patiently, letting them have a chance to say what was bothering them, even though the parent could sense it somewhat.

_Is it supposed to be this hard? Is this going the way it usually does?_

The parent wrapped one arm gently around their child. **_I will tell you, I have not seen anyone struggle quite so much. That does not mean it cannot be done. That means it will be all the sweeter when you do it._**

The baby hummed quietly against their parent. Then, finally: _Can’t you give me any advice? At all?_

**_Don’t think about completing this task. Think about why you want to complete it, with this specific item._ **

They left it to the baby to decide when to leave their embrace and approach the duck again. As they picked it up, the baby turned back to the adult. _I…it makes me nervous when I’m watched. I’m going to take it to my room._

The parent hummed back, a wave of affection and encouragement following the tiny, retreating form.

 

The baby deposited the carving on its bed of moss and backed up. Regarded it intensely.

_The adults don’t think this is worth anything. I do. Why?_

The baby tipped the duck, hefted it, took it in from all angles.

Stories and music could be very nice, but the baby always liked things to look at best. Visuals, Renny always said. And things like this were the best. Things to pick up, things that could be played with.

But why this object specifically?

 _It’s…..cute? Lots of things are cute._ _It’s cute… but it really is pretty rough. It doesn’t look great, compared to what it could have been, I guess._

They noticed some small stains, dark against the unpainted wood. Through the varnish, they could smell it. Blood.

Over the years, there had been occasion, every once in a while, that some pieces had blood on them. It was important stuff, apparently, something humans carried inside. They lost it sometimes, when they hurt themselves.

Any object sent into the mountain had a signature. Everyone said the humans couldn’t communicate by projecting to each other, so maybe they didn’t even do it on purpose. But there was…..intention, readable in all the minutiae of the artwork. Even the baby would have been able to sense if this carving had been made begrudgingly, or out of pure desire for glory.

_The maker hurt themselves while working on this and they kept going….and they were still happy. They still made the duck and wanted to present it to the mountain._

The baby backed up, taking in the bumpy little figure in front of them.

_So someone who wasn’t very good made this duck. They lost little bits of the blood while they made it, and they kept going. They were happy enough with it to present it. People probably told them it didn’t look very good. They still presented it._

The echoes the baby could sense while holding the duck were starting to make sense.

_They’ll probably….keep trying, too._

The baby charged forward and gathered the duck into its arms. Awkward as ever, but determined.

_This piece presented is not perfect, but it shows the potential for greater and greater things if the maker doesn’t give up. And more importantly, it is loved, it is a matter of pride. Even if it is a beginning, even if it is imperfect, it is loved._

_Just like me._

 

Some miles away, a young man lay awake, drilling holes in the ceiling with his stare. Telling himself that it was the failure of the plan, the scant nine days before the apocalypse that was keeping him awake. Not anything as petty as being the only one out of seven people who couldn’t make something nice enough to be accepted by a mountain.

Maybe he shouldn’t have even tried. Maybe he should have just worked on a backup plan, instead of dreaming his big, clumsy hands could have even made something beautiful. Much less imagine that that duck had even been worth the try...

Wait.

It was a duck. He hadn’t been able to remember it for hours, and now he could see it clear as day, ingrained in his mind from hours of work.

But if he could remember it….

It was fortunate his roommates were heavy sleepers; he didn’t have much thought of keeping quiet as he quickly got dressed and left for the mountain.

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case things got confusing:
> 
> It made the most sense for the voidfish to communicate through projecting thoughts to each other. The way I'm writing it, they can do this by thinking in clear sentences, or by sharing images and more vague feelings. This is why the they have the names for each other that they do. Instead of having a single word for someone, they project images and impressions of the individual they're talking about. Fisher is just 'the baby' cause that's an easy way to identify them; Second Youngest, Green Blotches is not the baby any more, and starting to get a name based on traits (they were all too polite to name them Horny Teenager). The adults have full trait names. That also means they have 'full names' for ones who are the closest to them, hence fisher's parent having a heckin lot of names for them, which they're able to share in mere moments.


End file.
